<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Imperius Practice (a Dark Livestream timestamp) by Chaotic_Smutty (Anna_Hopkins)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25271086">Imperius Practice (a Dark Livestream timestamp)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Hopkins/pseuds/Chaotic_Smutty'>Chaotic_Smutty (Anna_Hopkins)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dark Livestream [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(second chapter), Canon Compliant, Cock Worship, Dark Livestream, Dark Livestream 'verse, Fantasizing, Gratuitously Hot Voldemort, Imperius Curse (Harry Potter), M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Porn With Plot, Smut, Timestamp, Unresolved Sexual Tension, chapter twelve</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:02:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,903</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25271086</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Hopkins/pseuds/Chaotic_Smutty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene taking place sometime between chapters twelve and thirteen of <i>Dark Livestream:</i></p>
<p>In order to resist the Imperius Curse, one must naturally practice breaking free of it. And when Assistant admits he has managed some level of resistance already, Sir puts the curse on him to gauge the accuracy of that claim...</p>
<p>(The first chapter can be considered entirely canon-compliant to <i>Dark Livestream,</i> and the second chapter is a "what-if" bonus canon divergence from a particular point in the first.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dark Livestream [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710217</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>577</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>[...] "Your request is granted, Lucius."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thank you, my lord," Lucius bowed again, as did Draco a bit shakily. They left shortly after, closing the door behind them, and Draco didn't say anything on the long walk back to the Apparition zone; he was somewhat preoccupied with the revelation that living here, he'd be seeing a lot of both the Dark Lord and his Assistant, and if they acted like that </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>the time...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>...he might have to practice a blood redirection charm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Dark Lord drained his wine glass as the door closed, turning his slightly fuzzy gaze down to where Assistant lay against him. "With that finished," he murmured, "we can proceed to the matter of tomorrow's viewer special. I believe you saw the results of the viewer poll earlier?" A lazy hand gesture summoned his phone from his sleeve, regardless of Assistant's nod against his side. "Resisting the Imperius, indeed."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Assistant sat up a bit, albeit reluctantly. "Wouldn't that deprive you of an effective weapon, Sir?" He flinched as he realized what he was asking, but thankfully, the Dark Lord wasn't offended by his unsolicited advice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rather, to his surprise, Voldemort laughed, gazing fondly down at him. "Only technically, dear Assistant. Eventual resistance to the Imperius is a natural consequence of the solidifying of the will that comes with mastering the Dark Arts - the curse is only ever useful on the enemy and the weak. What use are a hundred puppets against ten comrades-in-arms?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was well-said; he would keep that phrase for the script of the episode. Assistant drank the last of his wine in a sort of toast, set the glass aside, and retrieved the familiar phials of Sobering Draught for them both for later. Downing the contents, he seemed to remember something, and stiffened. "Erm, speaking of, Sir," he began, "I've.. resisted the Imperius before. Under Voldemort's curious gaze, he went on, "after the demonstration by Moody - Barty - in my fourth year, I practiced a bit with friends."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Indeed? How fortuitous," smiled Voldemort, rising from the divan. As they made their way downstairs to the recording room - it didn't have the fragile artifacts that the office did, and was therefore better for spell practice - he carded his fingers along the side of the boy's neck. "It is good of you to mention this, as it shortens the timeline on teaching the skill." His Assistant, ever reliable, seemed to enjoy the praise as much as Voldemort enjoyed having occasion to give it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Although," as they closed the door behind them, and the Dark Lord took his usual seat, twirling his wand lazily in his hand, "we had best test the extent of your ability to resist, given that it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> Imperius you will be facing."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Of course, Sir," agreed Assistant. On the inside, Harry was shaking. He couldn't possibly tell Voldemort he'd resisted </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>Imperius before, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then.. had he, really? Harry remembered all too well the graveyard after the Third Task, and the unspoken magic that had weighed him down and forced him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>'Kneel.'</span>
  </em>
  <span> And he hadn't actually been Imperiused since. And, as Sir was currently explaining:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The esoteric properties of the Imperius we have discussed in videos come into play here; your rank as a willing subordinate strengthens the curse's influence, and even the title of your employment works against you, albeit subtly - just as it does in the case of Imperiusing service workers, clerks, secretaries, and one's own subordinates in general. Underground crime organizations prefer Imperius-resistant candidates for new members for just this reason. The only exception to this rule, of course, being house-elves, whose magical properties grant them supreme immunity to the Imperius and other compulsions against what one might expect. It is one of the many reasons even the most paranoid wizards still have them."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry thought of Kreacher; the crotchety old elf </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> loyal, if addled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Now, let us test your current resistance to orders of increasing complexity," said Voldemort. Before Harry could nod, he intoned, </span>
  <em>
    <span>"Imperio."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Assistant's body relaxed into the grip of the curse, that familiar pleasant haze washing over him, distancing him from the world. He let out a soft breath, peripherally aware of the Dark Lord's own minor pleasure from casting the spell, threading through their mental connection. Dizzy with comfort, he barely registered that he was going to his knees, prostrating himself in complete and worshipful submission before Sir's feet, or the "My Lord," that sighed breathlessly from his own lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He realized he'd been controlled into it at that point, but before he could lash out against it, the curse's haze fell away, and Assistant came back to himself on the floor at Sir's feet, an inch from kissing the hem of his robes as Death Eaters did, gaze turned up to the Dark Lord in reverence. He quickly schooled his expression - thankful that it had been hidden by the obscuring hood - and got to his fee, stepping back. "I guess I'm not that resistant after all," Harry observed, sheepish.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Quite the contrary, Assistant," the Dark Lord smiled. "I maximized the spell's efficacy in several ways: the element of surprise, the full weight of my magical power, and for the act itself, an order of simple movements, for a short duration, that requires no expenditure of magic on the part of the target. Only a house-elf would be able to break that level of the curse on the first try - and you nearly managed it, once you realized what happened. It was quite impressive, Assistant." Sir's half-lidded gaze lingered appreciatively on him, and he smirked more broadly. "Let us try again."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leaned back against the chair, now, splaying his legs out, in an arrogant pose that fit the Dark Lord stereotype to a 'T'. Red eyes glinted. Voldemort levelled his wand at Assistant again, and drawled, </span>
  <em>
    <span>"Imperio.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Assistant... come here and suck my cock."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry's breath caught in his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was like he was having an out-of-body experience - lazy pleasure suffused his being as surely as heat across his skin. He thought his heart was beating faster in his chest, but he couldn't hear it; couldn't hear anything except the order he'd been given, echoing, endlessly, around him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>'Come here,'</span>
  </em>
  <span> said Sir's voice, </span>
  <em>
    <span>'and-'</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry could see that he was stepping closer again, toward him; his steps were slower and more hesitant than if he were completely under the curse's sway, dreamlike, conflicted. He could sense anticipation from Voldemort's mind - but was he anticipating Assistant's successful resistance, or..</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or Assistant's mouth enveloping his prick?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Assistant's slack mouth puffed with a heated breath, pupils dilated. He wished, more than anything, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sir. But would it be better if he successfully resisted, or if - or if he didn't refuse? His steps slowed to a halt, and Harry attended to the emotions crossing their connection, finding both excitement and disappointment, and he couldn't tell which was from what.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His deliberation distracted Harry from resisting, and Assistant walked closer, until he stood before Sir's chair, and went gracefully to his knees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The anticipation ramped higher. Harry felt a mental shiver down his spine; were he physically present in his body, he expected he'd be biting his lip against a noise. Assistant's hand rested, briefly, lightly, upon the Dark Lord's thigh, and he heard a sharp intake of breath from above him, but could not look to see the expression on Sir's face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he reached for the zipper, Assistant's hand trembled, and Harry pulled it away to his side. Voldemort's mixed feelings filtered through again, stronger now - impressment and disappointment both. He renewed the Imperius order.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Suck me, Assistant."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But as much as Assistant wanted to do so, to satisfy Sir in the wet heat of his mouth, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>taste</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, to feel the weight of that interested bulge Harry had stifled moans to at night ever since the morning after his birthday-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marginally more so, he wanted to please him by succeeding in the real test.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Assistant sat back on his heels, nails digging into his thighs, breathed deeply, and broke free of the curse. "No, Sir, I won't," he gasped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just like that, the moment was over. Voldemort resumed a normal sitting position, praising his success. "I would have stopped you before the actual act," he assured Assistant. "Dark Lord I may be, but sexual assault - especially facilitated by magic - is repugnant."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Even if,</span>
  </em>
  <span> thought the Dark Lord as they hammered out the details of the script for tomorrow's episode, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I wished you to continue.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The dawn found Harry at Grimmauld Place, face pressed into his pillow in bed as he worked his hand furiously over his persistent, almost painful erection. The haze cast over his mind by the Imperius had not done anything to dull his memory: he'd been close enough to Sir's body to </span>
  <em>
    <span>smell</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, and that scent-memory was all he could think about now, filling his thoughts nearly as completely as the curse had, as the words had. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Assistant... suck my cock.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sir," Harry gasped, squeezing himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn't know how he'd kept it together long enough to get back to his room in Order Headquarters - he hadn't dared to use his room in Dark Headquarters, not when that ran the risk, however small and unlikely, of being caught doing this by the Dark Lord himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(Would he have been offended, to find out Assistant was as infatuated with him as Bellatrix? As much a slave to his desires as the witch was to her madness? Or - </span>
  <em>
    <span>the interested tenting of thin bedsheets</span>
  </em>
  <span> - would Sir have been pleased by the sight, the way he had while watching that video, when he was under the sway of dark magic?)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What if,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Harry imagined, sticking the fingers of one hand in his mouth and tonguing them, sucking them, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what if Sir wanted me to continue?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Suck me, Assistant."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What if Sir merely approached the bed and gazed expectantly down at him - </span>
  <em>
    <span>will you obey me in this, Assistant?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Outside his fantasy, Harry moaned 'yes' into his pillow, thrusting his hips into the tight grip of his other hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then come here, Assistant, and suck my cock.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes, Sir," Harry answered into the pillow, the muffled words as muted as the rest of his thoughts seemed to be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had no idea what that would actually feel like, so he pretended using several of his fingers, working his tongue over and around them and forcing them as far into his throat as they could reach. Obscene, wet noises filled the room. Harry closed his eyes, imagining how the Dark Lord would respond: would he be entertained by his inexperience? Would he thread fingers through Harry's hair, and breathe sharply, that little gasp of an inhalation, at the way Assistant learned, very quickly, what Sir liked?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That's it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> his fantasized Sir sighed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You would give me whatever I want, wouldn't you, Assistant?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nnh, yesh," Harry moaned around the fingers-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>turn over.</em>
  </b>
  <span> The imagined order sounded harsh even to Harry's ears, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>he'd</span>
  </em>
  <span> imagined it. He pulled his fingers out of his mouth, panting, "What are you going to do, Sir?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rolled onto his stomach, imagining the rough squeeze of smooth hands on his hips, pulling him up to elbows and knees, pulling his trousers completely off. Harry felt as feverish at the idea as he had the night he'd come back from Dark Headquarters with Sir's magic pulling heavy at him-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(-full, so full he </span>
  <em>
    <span>burned</span>
  </em>
  <span> with it, with need, Dark magic close-so-close to spilling out-)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-as he reached back and slipped his spit-slick fingers under the waistband of his briefs, guiding one warm, wet fingertip down the crevice of his arse, and imagined the hand doing it didn't belong to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Whatever I want to do, Assistant,</span>
  </em>
  <span> his fantasy told him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And you wouldn't stop me, would you?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"N-never, Sir-" Harry shuddered, feeling far too much pleasure from this fantasy-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In his bedchamber on the seventh floor of Headquarters, Voldemort marvelled at his imagination's vivid conception of Assistant in the fantasy he'd expanded upon since the younger wizard's departure. "That's right," he hissed so low it came out more like a growl, imagining working Assistant open with his fingers, the feel of it, the sounds Assistant would make for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>S-Sir, ah-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Anything,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> he hissed, stroking himself with just one hand, imagining the other occupied within Assistant, plunged deep into a channel slickened with oil and fever-hot with need. "I wouldn't have even needed the Imperius to demand your mouth, would I?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Nngh, no, Sir, not at ah-ll-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, the way that voice </span>
  <em>
    <span>broke</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the last word. Voldemort withdrew his imagined fingers, swallowing, and outside his fantasy, slicked the once-'occupied' hand thoroughly with oil, his mind's-eye view of Assistant's figure bent with his face pressed into the mattress, trembling, eager for him. He 'guided' his aching erection with the hand that had been stroking it, imagining that he was about to make his first thrust into Assistant's eager, pliant, desperate orifice - still so tight, despite what he had done to prepare it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The head of his cock pressed up against the slick ring formed of his finger and thumb, just barely slipping into the wet heat that called him, Assistant's imagined voice echoing pleas against the walls of the room from just the touch-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, Sir, I, </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>please-</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Dark Lord came with more force than he could ever remember, and significantly more volume, gasping as his whole body seemed to seize with mind-blanking pleasure-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And, with a cry verging on a scream, curling in on himself so many miles away, so did Assistant.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. (Not Canon Compliant.)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>a divergence of the previous chapter - this one, non-canonical.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>"Suck me, Assistant."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But as much as Assistant wanted to do so, to satisfy Sir in the wet heat of his mouth, to </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>taste</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> him, to feel the weight of that interested bulge Harry had stifled moans to at night ever since the morning after his birthday-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-he wanted even more for the Dark Lord to know he was doing it of his own will.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With the same nebulous sense of </span>
  <em>
    <span>force</span>
  </em>
  <span> as he'd used in fourth year, he broke free of the Imperius and stood up, chest heaving. "Excellent work," Voldemort praised him; but his next words were cut off with a gasp as Assistant went back to his knees and swiftly zipped his trousers. "A-Assistant?" came the slightly strained query.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sir, please," Assistant mouthed against his thigh, "Let me..?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dazed not with magic but with the fever of want, he reached his hand in under the Dark Lord's black (of course it was black) undergarment, the stiffening, twitching length of him hot under his palm. Voldemort swore under his breath in Parseltongue; and Harry pretended he didn't hear it, but his own tenting trousers were a clear indication to the contrary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Soon retrieved from the confines of clinging black silk, Sir's erection rose in his lap, and Assistant couldn't keep his moan to himself at the sheer sight of it. His mouth, so dry moment ago, was now fairly drooling; anticipation rose within him like a tidal wave, higher and higher than he had ever imagined it could. Harry leaned in closer, and gave the tip a lick, wicking away the salty drop of clear fluid that beaded up from the slit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Do it,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sir hissed, the muscles in his thighs tensing. Harry's breath hitched, and with some trepidation, he did as he was told.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Never mind that his only information on what he was doing had been from the moving pictures in lewd magazines; Harry did his best, swallowing down as much as he could with each bob of his head, sucking and laving at the spongy glans to get all the musky, salty fluid that was coming out. The taste of Sir's skin was faintly metallic from the blood gathering so close to the surface, not all that different from the inside of Harry's mouth, he thought, and more than that, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonderful,</span>
  </em>
  <span> intoxicating, and he began to lose himself in the repetitive movements, small wet noises filling his ears as he went.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Assistant," Sir groaned, thudding his head back against the leather of the chair with a harsh breath. Fingers were threading through Assistant's hair through the hood, not guiding him, only resting there, while the Dark Lord let out stifled sounds of pleasure made all the more erotic by the intensifying, boiling lust that filtered through from his mind into Harry's.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Assistant felt himself throbbing in time with his mouthful, getting close, so close, for who knew how long he had been doing this by now-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was absurdly tempted to reach up and pull down the hood, to let Sir see him and know, and understand, and be delighted by his devotion, his desire, his submission-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sswallow," the Dark Lord demanded, narrowly avoiding slipping into Parseltongue. His grip on Harry's hair suddenly tightened, pulling him down on his cock until it was all the way down his throat, and Harry didn't even care that he choked, that his eyes watered, that his throat constricted around the invasion, for Sir's prick pulsed against his tongue, and the man let out a bestial sound that trailed off into a panting breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He came, and Assistant swallowed, and Harry felt every bit of that pleasure added onto his own, and spilled inside his pants without having touched himself at all.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>